Faking It (Losing It, #2)

“Oh, are they magic shots? If I pour one out on the busted concrete outside will a beanstalk grow?”


“Oh, they’re magic, all right,” Milo said. “They’re supposed to make you grow a pair.”

In true Milo-fashion, he laughed at his joke before I could, and did a celebratory dance. I shook my head and said blandly, “You’re hilarious.”

“I know, I know. But seriously, these shots are special.”

I eyed the tequila that I was sure to regret in the morning and said, “Especially bad.”

He picked up his shot and said, “Each one you take is a commitment. If you break that commitment, the gods of alcohol will punish you with a hangover so bad you’ll think Satan himself took a dump on you.”

“And if I don’t take them?”

“You can spend the night being a depressed white boy while I go get laid. Your choice.”

It was pretty depressing when you put it that way. I sighed and gestured for him to continue.

“Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to get a girl’s phone number tonight. If you fail, may the alcohol gods curse you with the lowest alcohol tolerance known to man—so low that an anorexic baby could drink you under the table.”

I laughed, but picked up my shot. “I don’t think anorexic babies are a thing.”

“How do you know? I’m sure they don’t like being called chubby and having their fat pinched more than anyone else does.”

I took the shot just to get him to shut up. It tasted like rubber mixed with lighter fluid mixed with death. When my throat no longer felt like the burning inferno of hell itself I said, “Okay. A number. I can do that.”

He smiled and poured the second shot.

I eyed him. “If you say my punishment for this one is herpes, I’m out.”

He handed me the glass, laughing. “Relax, Winston. I’ll leave that between you and your giving tree.”

And now I could never read that book to my kids at the after-school program again.

“You should never have children,” I said.

“What makes you think there aren’t a few little Milos running around out there already?”

“Because Armageddon hasn’t happened yet.”

Milo punched me in the shoulder, spilling half the shot. He topped off the glass and said, “Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to do something out of character tonight. Should you fail, you’ll be cursed to a lifetime filled with premature ejaculation.”

“Seriously, man?”

He held up his hands and laughed, “Hey, the alcohol gods giveth and they taketh away.”

I glared at him but took the shot without comment. I’d thought it might taste a little less heinous the second time around, but it was still the most offensive thing to ever assault my taste buds.

Milo finished his own shot with no issue.

“How often do you drink this stuff?” I asked.

“Pretty often. One of my uncles works at the factory in Mexico. He sends me coupons. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“If I ever get used to it . . . shoot me.”

Milo ignored me and said, “Numero tres! For this one, amigo, I want you to get pissed off. You’ve been too damn nice about this whole thing. I don’t care if it’s over a spilled drink or just how ugly some dude’s face is—but by taking this shot, you promise to let yourself get angry tonight.”

“What if I get pissed at you?”

He shrugged. “You probably will, but I guarantee it won’t be because I’ve got an ugly face.”

“Right, just that ugly shirt you’re wearing.”

“This shirt is awesome. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I laughed and said, “Okay, I’ll get angry. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

He clinked his shot with mine and said, “And none of that holding-it-in shit.”

I took the shot. This time it didn’t burn at all, which was worrisome. Maybe it had already corroded my esophagus. I watched him fill the final glasses and I said, “Last one.”

“Hmm . . .” Milo paused, thinking. “You’ve not been with anyone since Bliss right?”

I shook my head, and didn’t bother telling him I was never really with her either. He poured the last shot and said, “Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to hook up with a girl at this bar.”

“Hook up?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of what qualifies as a hookup. As long as there is some kind of action involved, I’m sure the alcohol gods will be appeased. If you succeed, may you be blessed with extraordinary game and the best sex of your life.”

A reward. That was new.

“And if I don’t?”

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